Forgotten Promises (Lost Boys #1)

by Jessica Lemmon

  Slowly, he eases his lips from mine, still holding me against him.

  “Make love to me, Tucker,” I pant, my breaths uneven. It’s the only thing left that will satisfy us.

  He opens and closes his mouth as if he’s struggling to find the right words. Then he pulls away. A rejection is coming. Tears pool my eyes. We’ve come too far to say no, but he’s going to. I can feel it.

  “No, Angel.”

  Even knowing it was coming, the sting of his refusal slices me in two. A tear escapes the corner of my eye. With his thumb, he brushes away the drop as his lips press together in a grimace.

  “Why?” His voice is steel.

  “Why?” I cover my breasts with my palms, embarrassed. “Because.”

  Because in this weird little wormhole of space and time, I’m starting to feel things for him. Because I’m reacting to him on a basic, primal level, and I like the way it feels. Because I deserve to be wanted, to be desired. Drew wanted Shayna, not me. But Tucker…Tucker wants me.

  “Because I want to be with you,” I say. The answer is as simple and complicated as that. “I want to…help you.”

  “That’s not your job.” He stiffens.

  I’m losing him, I can feel it. That was the wrong thing to say.

  “You should get some sleep.” He turns and climbs the ladder to the loft. The wooden rungs shake beneath his shoes, and I hear the squeak of the wet soles as he crosses the floor upstairs. I listen as his shoes drop to the ground one by one; as he slides out of his wet jeans.

  One hand on the ladder, I curl my fingers around it and debate whether or not I should go to bed like he suggested…or follow him up.

  Tucker

  Morgan doesn’t come up, and I feel an odd combination of relief and remorse. I sit on the mattress, knees up, gripping one wrist, my arms wrapped around my legs—huddling, like I’m protecting myself, but from what, I’m not sure.

  I half expect her to make a break for it and run out the front door, but the cabin remains silent. This is the first time since I brought her here that I’ve left her on her own. The first time I haven’t watched over her while she sleeps. It’s not smart. Not really. But neither is kissing without our shirts on.

  Her body.

  I release my legs and lay flat on the bed. With my eyes closed, it’s impossible to see anything but the tempting swells of her breasts and the perfect dusty pink of her nipples. I weld my tongue to the roof of my mouth as I recall the way her nipples pebbled beneath my touch, wondering what they would taste like on my tongue. Every nerve ending in my body ignites like dry brush set on fire when I remember the words she said next.

  Make love to me.

  No one’s ever asked that of me before. Not ever. The responsibility of that request is heavy. I don’t even know if I know how to do what she’s asking. Sex is…sex is…I pinch my eyes closed trying to find the definition. Several words bounce around my head.

  Dirty. Selfish. Shameful. Terrifying.

  Only with Morgan, I don’t feel any of those things. What we’ve done so far is thrilling. Exciting. We share a connection that almost makes me feel whole. Like she’s filling in a piece of me I had no idea was missing. Or…not that. I know I have a piece missing, I just never dared to believe someone else—someone as beautiful and angelic as her—would fill it.

  —

  Being in a prison cell without a clock has taught me to track time by the feel of it. I figure I’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour going on two listening as the storm rages, then eases. Rain hits the roof lightly now, the worst of the storm having blown over. I turn my head and look downstairs to the front door. Still closed. The lock twisted from the inside.

  She didn’t leave.

  I no sooner have the thought than the telltale rattle-creak of the ladder alerts me of a visitor. Morgan is wearing her white lace shirt and my pajama pants, her only two dry articles of clothing. When she reaches the top of the ladder, she stands over me.

  “It’s freezing down there.” She holds her elbows with her hands, her voice small and questioning. Amber eyes roam over the blanket covering my lower half, and my blood heats again. “Can we share if I promise to keep my hands to myself?” She winces, like maybe she’s afraid I might turn her down. Again.

  I don’t understand this girl. She should be relieved. In telling her no, I gave her a chance to walk away whole. As whole as she can walk away after being brought here against her will.

  Her eyes go to my bag. The hunting knife is in there, and it’s not hard to guess by the way she bites her lip and stares that she sees it. I could make a move for it, but she doesn’t seem to be interested in overpowering me. Still, it’s not like me to be careless.

  Not true. I haven’t cared about anything for a long, long time.

  She lowers herself until she’s sitting on the edge of the twin mattress on the floor and asks a belated “May I?”

  I nod and fold my arms behind my head, giving her room. She lies next to me, snuggling in close, but doesn’t touch me. I watch her through my lashes, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out the sound of the rain.

  She sighs, one of those sounds like she’s completely relaxed. “You’re warm.”

  Now that she’s here, I’m downright hot.

  I prop my head in my hand and turn on my side, facing her. I tell myself it’s to give her more room on the bed, but it’s because I want to look at her. Then I do, and she’s too pretty to take in, so I close my eyes. Hold my breath.

  She’s dressed, but her nude breasts flash on the screens of my eyelids like a movie I can’t unsee. It’s replaced the former horror reel that was there before, and I mentally hold on to this new image with both hands. That vision of Morgan will get me through many long, lonely nights.

  She slides up and puts her head on the lone pillow on the bed, leaving a narrow gap between us, balanced on the edge of the bed, careful not to come too close.

  I’m grateful for the dark. If there was more light, she’d see the physical evidence of how much I want her outlined by the scratchy blanket. I’m wearing boxers, but they’re not doing much for concealing a persistent hard-on.

  She takes a deep breath and then blows it out. I try to hold her gaze but lose the battle again. I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling instead, trying to think of anything but sex. It’s no use. All the blood in my brain has settled between my legs.

  I clench my teeth and try to decide what to do next.

  Chapter 11

  Safe

  Morgan

  Arms behind his head, Tucker doesn’t look the least bit relaxed. He’s rigid, eyes on the low ceiling, jaw clenched, lips slightly pursed. In the dim light, I can make out the outline of his bare chest. The blanket stops just below his belly button and I’m as tempted as Eve by the apple to explore those firm planes again.

  I was right about him being able to keep me warm. Heat radiates from his body like a furnace.

  “Why are you so hot?” I ask softly. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I meant that sincerely. I’m not hitting on you.”

  My attempt at humor falls flat. He doesn’t take his eyes from the ceiling.

  “I’m making you uncomfortable,” I state, and of all the things, this statement earns me a smile, a flash of his white teeth in the dark. “What’s funny?” I ask, almost petulant.

  “Shouldn’t I be the one making you uncomfortable?” He turns his head, and for a moment he looks relaxed. Like this moment is one of the only easy moments he’s ever experienced. I consider his past and think maybe it could be.

  His smile fades. I lick my lips as a shiver takes my shoulders. Not because I’m cold, but because I’m so nervous I can hardly think. Being this close to him scrambles my brain. East becomes west, wrong becomes right, and the girl I thought I was is shaking her head in confusion at me.

  “Cold?” he asks.

  I nod, deciding it’s easier to lie than explain, but I confess immediately. “I’m not cold. I’m…I
meant what I said earlier. I meant every last word.”

  “I know.” He tenses, his biceps bunching, his eyes burning torches in the dark. “There’s a line we shouldn’t cross, Morgan.”

  I don’t agree, but say “I understand” even though I kind of don’t. “You don’t want me to touch you.”

  This earns me a laugh. One that stretches his belly and scratches his throat. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. He licks his full lips and smiles softly over at me, his eyes hooded. I’m overwhelmed by how real and solid he is as much as I am by my reaction to him. I lean the slightest bit closer.

  “That’s not it, trust me.” His voice is low and husky when he says, “I want you to touch me.”

  “Well, I want you to touch me,” I parrot. We’re on the same page. We want the same thing. It’s the best news I’ve heard in days. We fall quiet. Pattering raindrops on the roof are the only sound in the dark room until Tucker shifts. The blanket rustles and my skin heats as one hot hand rests on my shoulder. It’s just a shoulder, and over my lace shirt, but parts of me thrum to life as if he touched my naked skin.

  He slips his fingers beneath the sleeve and brushes my bare arm before moving to my elbow, then down to my wrist. Goose bumps prickle my skin when he chases the path back up.

  “You’re so soft,” he murmurs. His comment is intimate in the dark, with the rain outside, and us so undeniably close. His fingers hook my jaw and I go to him, unable to keep from erasing what little remaining space remains between us.

  “I’ve never felt this.” His breath warms my waiting lips.

  “Felt what?” I whisper.

  “Hot.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Everywhere.” His palm cups the back of my neck and I scoot closer, my hip bumping his length. The thin blanket can’t conceal his reaction to me and I puff with pride. He does want me.

  “Morgan.” He sucks in a sharp breath, tensing everywhere.

  “Just go with it,” I plead against his mouth.

  He doesn’t argue.

  His lips take mine, and one second later, our tongues are tangling. I writhe against him, no respect for barriers or boundaries anymore. Each strong slide of his tongue on mine sends my hips swiveling and my hands wandering. I cup his ribs, running a hand down his torso and over those flexing, hard abs.

  Before I’ve had my fill, his hand captures my wrist and pins my arm over my head. His mouth moving on mine, he leans into me, our kisses increasing in intensity. I’m not sure if he realizes he’s restraining me, but it doesn’t matter. I’m a willing captive.

  He’s a fury of movement and passion. His mouth on mine, his hips flexing, his fingers tight on my trapped wrist. He’s unhinged, wild. I encourage him by giving as good as I get, lifting my head from the pillow to meet his mouth. I want this as much as he does.

  With my free hand, I run my fingers through his shaggy hair, wrapping them around the strands and giving a slight yank. He pulls his mouth from mine, his eyes hooded and dazed. Before he has a chance to come to his senses, I sit up and close my lips over the strong column of his throat. Stubble abrades my tongue as I continue the path to his erratic pulse.

  His hips thrust into mine as he presses my other wrist over my head. His body covers mine, and I kiss every inch of his throat I can reach. This must be a way for him to keep me from going further than he wants. If he pulls away, even an inch, I’ll be unable to reach him. He holds me down, but it’s me who controls him. And we both know it.

  I’m dizzy, either by my own power or from the taste of his skin. He’s hot and clean. Delicious. I fight him and he tightens his hold, then seeks my face for my reaction.

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  He says nothing for the space of three heartbeats.

  “Yes, what?” His voice is rocky. Strangled with lust. With need.

  “Yes to everything.” I keep my gaze pinned to his. Silently, he accepts.

  One of his hands leaves my wrists and slides down my body. Hand on my hip, he grinds his erection into my thigh. The only thought in my lust-addled brain is how I want him between my legs. I want to feel the weight of his muscled form against me; his rigid hard-on against my most sensitive part. His hand slips beneath my lace shirt, stroking my stomach with tentative swirls while his mouth is on mine, turning me inside out.

  His fingers climb higher and my heart rate escalates. He brushes a nipple and I kiss him urgently. Yes, yes, yes. One of my hands is free, but I don’t dare touch him. I don’t want to break the spell. Not when he’s doing everything I want him to do.

  Well, almost everything.

  His explorative touch turns into plucking. My nipple pebbles, warmth settling between my legs. I squirm, my knees sliding together in a silent plea. Tucker responds by moving his hand down my belly, over my thighs, and to the back of my knee. I slide my hand down his bare back, over the boxers, and cup his ass.

  Between my legs, he grinds his hips. I throw my head back, sucking in a sharp breath. His length is exquisite against my sensitive, swollen center, even through the barriers of blanket and clothes. I want to be skin to skin with him, but if he’s not ready, I’m willing to take what he gives. He’s giving me all he can. It’s beautiful.

  He tilts his hips, striking against me like flint to stone. I moan, wanting more, and squeeze his ass again. He glides over me in a seductive rhythm, and I’m now warm and wet.

  I kiss his throat, my fingers dancing over one of his nipples. He tips his head, allowing me room, granting his permission.

  “Morgan.” His voice is a growl.

  “Yes.”

  His forehead drops onto mine. His eyes are closed, and his breathing goes tight as he thrusts between my legs again. I wrap one ankle around his thigh, cradling him against me. He grinds again and again.

  Each and every stroke hits me where I need. My release builds, the pressure ratcheting higher, higher. An orgasm ripples up my spine, forcing my eyes shut and my head back. I shudder, clawing his naked back, and spearing my fingers into his hair as I ride out the wave of bliss. His mouth opens over mine and the most exquisite, guttural noise comes from his throat.

  He’s coming. Against my body, with my name on his lips, and my hands in his hair. His arms lose strength and he collapses to his elbows before sliding his lips over my cheekbone and down to my ear.

  My thighs still cradle him, my arms wrapped around his shoulders. I turn my face to kiss his slightly sweaty temple, completely satisfied and hoping he feels the same way.

  Tucker

  Hand to God, my lips are numb.

  And several other parts. Except for one part. The part of me nestled between Morgan’s legs. It’s as if every nerve in my entire body has temporarily relocated to my cock.

  She toys with the ends of my hair, then kisses my temple once, twice. I like the way she touches me. She’s soft and giving, and doesn’t take anything I don’t want her to. God, she’s incredible.

  “Thank you,” she whispers into my ear.

  With some effort, I pull my face out of the crook of her neck and meet her eyes in the dim light. This beautiful girl. Beneath me. Thanking me. I have no idea how to react.

  “I hope you know that was good for me.” She smiles and my heart mule-kicks my chest.

  “I hope you know I have to change my shorts,” I mutter.

  She laughs and the sound reverberates from her belly to mine.

  A foreign yet welcome emotion unfurls in my chest. I’m not sure, but I think it might be hope. Hope that I can come out of the pit I’ve been buried in.

  It’s humbling.

  I touch my nose to hers, suddenly bone-tired. “You wore me out, I think.”

  Another gentle laugh. She offers a kiss that I accept before I roll over, but I refuse to leave her completely. I lie on my side and keep my hand on her hip.

  Her eyelids slide to half-mast. “I’m sleepy.”

  You’re beautiful.

  “So sleep.” We must have kicked the blanket onto the floor. I grab
it and throw it over her, then ease from the bed.

  She hums softly, her eyelids sliding shut. She sounds satisfied, and that, too, is something I can hardly believe. I snatch up a fresh pair of boxers from my bag, smile to myself, and head downstairs.

  I had every intention of heading back up again after my quick trip to the bathroom, but instead I go outside.

  Crickets sing nighttime songs that sound more like screeches in the desolate wilderness. My skin is still hot from what Morgan and I did together, so the cool night air is most welcome.

  Leaning on the deck’s railing, I close my eyes and chase my thoughts. I’ve never experienced lust, not really. Not like anything I’ve felt in the last few days. The sensation of being hard and ready, my skin tight like a balloon about to burst…it’s all so new.

  Probably why I’m standing out here trying to figure out what the hell just happened. I sort of lost myself in her earlier: in her mouth, in her arms. In her open acceptance of who I am and what’s happened to me in the past. Then, I don’t know…it was like something animal, carnal, took over. I didn’t think, I just…was.

  Yet I was present the entire time. I was with Morgan, watching her eyes on mine, savoring the feel of her body on mine. Lost in the way she reacted to me; the way I reacted to her. I’ve never felt so alive.

  The rain has stopped and I lean on the railing a while longer and think about nothing and everything. I stay until I’ve examined and reexamined my thoughts and the sun peeks over the hills. Darkness tries to hide beneath the branches and behind the trunks of trees but fails.

  I think of Morgan. She’s light. I’m darkness. I have no way to hide with her near. She’s around me, saturating every part of me with her truth. It’s that thought that takes me upstairs.

  When I reach the top of the ladder, she blinks big amber-colored eyes.

  “You left.” She sounds almost hurt.